Selma In The City

Posted by: Selma

I have just found out a freaky statistic about my hometown. Sydney currently boasts a population around the 4 million mark. But we’re not alone. Insert eerie soundtrack here. I mean, really not alone. The soundtrack reaches a crescendo of terror and suspense. The truth is we are sharing our fair city with millions of beings of the Genus Rattus persuasion.

That’s right you guessed it. There are as many rats in the city of Sydney as there are people. They say that when you are in the CBD you are never more than 10 metres from a rat. Eewwwwww! The rat catchers are so busy they are urgently seeking new recruits. It’s a well-paid job but there are significant drawbacks. Like maybe lots and lots of rats and the possibility of bubonic plague. Now that really is gross. Think I’ll get a cat!

Posted by : Selma

I am 42. I’m married. I have an 11-year old son and 4 goldfish. I live in a nice part of Sydney and have lots of great friends. My job is bearable. My first novel is under consideration by a publisher. I have just started blogging and am enjoying it. I smile a lot (particularly after a bottle of red and a block of dark chocolate.) I always look on the bright side. Until today.

I’ve just come back from an appointment with my doctor. I have been experiencing unusual symptoms in unprecedented numbers. It’s freaking me out. My doctor is a kindly lady in her fifties. Her presence immediately offers reassurance. She is well-informed and sympathetic, but her pronouncement yesterday was as grating as nails down a blackboard.

Perimenopause. You’re going through perimenopause.
Wait a minute. You mean there’s a prologue to menopause?
I’m afraid so.
How long does it last?
Anywhere from 2 to 8 years.
You are joking.
I’m deadly serious.

Perimenopause marks the interval in which your body begins its transition into menopause. Symptoms you can expect to encounter include: hot flashes, sleep problems, sudden mood changes, an increase in the ‘bad cholesterol’ in your blood which raises the risk of heart disease, loss of bone density, and urinary incontinence. Wow! It sounds even better than the real thing. All this and then the experience of the real menopause at the end of it. It’s almost too good to be true.

Like a politician who has little time to concentrate on domestic policy, I am ignoring the leering face of my perimenopause in the hope it will go away; but it hovers at my shoulder, jeering, making fun - a ghostly voiceover in the normally upbeat soundtrack of my life.

Rachelle (don’t forget the second ‘l’ and the ‘e’ on the end) and I went out for coffee this morning. A policeman walking the beat said :”Morning Ma’am.” Rachelle was delighted. “Oooooh, wasn’t he polite?” she chirped. I was too miffed to concur. He was actually saying :”Morning, Ma’am” to me, while looking at Rachelle as if he wanted to frisk her in unmentionable places. This is the symptom of perimenopause the doctors won’t tell you about. It’s as taboo a subject as how often married couples actually have sex. (Three times a week ? More like three times a millennium.)

The symptom which cannot be named is invisibility. Perimenopausal women of a certain age are not seen as women by men 35 and under. The uneven rise and fall of our oestrogen and progesterone levels masks our true selves; we become insubstantial images, negatives in our own slideshow. Overnight we fall off the radar.

My friend, Lottie, who is 52 and going through the menopause proper warned me about it. “It’s like we surrender our sexuality overnight.” Lottie is vibrant and gorgeous. She split with her husband ten years ago when she herself was perimenopausal, and as she says, it’s been a long time between drinks.

I’m not saying I require wolf whistles from building sites and complete strangers asking me if I come here often, to feel good about myself; but, hey, every little bit helps - especially when you spend the day tottering on a mood pendulum that wavers between a euphoria akin to having two tabs of ecstasy for breakfast washed down with half a bottle of vodka - and the bleak despair of a teenager with an acne problem.

There’s only one thing for it. Perimenopause schmerimenopause. I need to revert to my default setting for combatting a crisis. Vodka, chocolate, shoes and loud behaviour. If I’m going to be perimenopausal, at least I can be a princess about it!

The week as it was.

Posted by : Selma

* Sydney - equine influenza toll rises to 12. Eleven of the horses affected are stabled at Sydney’s Centennial Park. Most of these are thoroughbred stallions worth around $500 million. An outbreak of horse flu could bring the racing industry, worth a staggering $7.74 billion, to a grinding halt. The Spring Racing Carnival may have to be postponed. What, no Melbourne Cup? I’ve already bought the hot pink Terry Biviano stilettos I saw on sale with a matching hat Barbara Cartland would be proud of. I’ve also been studying the form guide. This year is my year - I know I’m going to pick a winner. I’ll walk away with at least a $5.70 !

* Our prayers and thoughts are needed for the people affected by the forest fires in Greece. At least 41 are dead with many more people trapped by fires which are moving with astonishing speed. A number of people were burned to death in their cars while trying to flee. It’s a terrible situation. A state of emergency has been declared.

* In more sad news, a sixth bore hole drilled at the Utah mine collapse has found no sign of life. Experts have determined that there was no space where the miners could have survived. This is devastating news for their families. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

* In an unexpected DUI trilogy, Lindsay Lohan gets one day in jail as a result of her DUI charge. Nicole Richie spends 82 minutes in jail and Bill Murray may get charged with DUI as a result of driving a golf cart while intoxicated through the streets of Stockholm, Sweden. I think he might have been airmailing the green. FORE !!!!@@@@###!!

* In the story of the week, a team of astronomers at the University of Minnesota announced on Thursday that they’ve found a hole in the universe 1 billion light years across. It seems like it’s a big hole of well, nothing. A blank spot for which they can find no purpose. Now I know all those guys possess a superior intellect to the rest of us and discuss quantum mechanics and Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle the way we discuss what we’re going to watch on TV; but isn’t it obvious what that big empty hole of nothing is? It’s the spawning ground for the Hilton family. Obvious.

Have an excellent week!

She’s back. Fresh from the Primrose Averingham Finishing School in North London and an advice segment on Radio One, please welcome with a well-enunciated “How do you do?”, etiquette expert and author of ‘Naughty But Nice. A Guide To Sexual Etiquette in the 21st Century’; the woman with the most well-rounded vowels in the business - Ms. Penelope Farquhar-Jones. Send your difficult dilemmas, etiquette entreaties, and pressing problems, to selmainthecity@mac.com. Penelope will endeavour to help.

BAG LADY

Dear Penelope,

I am trying to climb the corporate ladder and often get invited to functions.The other women who attend these things are generally married to my very wealthy colleagues and can afford designer gear. It is important that I look good at these events but I have a limited budget. Any suggestions?
- Tina Shops At Target.

Impeccable grooming and simplicity of style go a long way to creating an air of sophistication and elegance. A black dress can be accentuated with a colourful scarf or a striking piece of jewellery. Worn with unadorned black slingbacks, your look will say ‘C’est chic.’ The wives of your wealthy colleagues may think otherwise, but no-one believes a pair of gold stilettos coupled with a lime-green crocodile-skin mini skirt (the designer is irrelevant here) looks good on a woman of 45. Quelle horreur!

The way you carry yourself and your knowledge of current events (brush up on the latest news items before you attend the function) will be more memorable than whether or not you can defy the laws of colour coordination. However, if in doubt - cheat. A new website in Australia offers subscribers the chance to rent designer goods at a smidgeon of the price. One can rent the Fendi B Bag for $95.00 per week as well as matching accessories and shoes. Beat the designer tragics at their own game. They will not believe their eyes.
Visit: Love Me And Leave Me

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

Dear Penelope,

I have been seeing my boyfriend for 6 months. I met his parents for the first time last week. At one stage I was alone with his father, whereupon he put his hand up my skirt. I was shocked. Should I tell my boyfriend his father is an old lech?
- TT Lated.

Oh, the horror of your boyfriend’s father trying to get a piece of his son’s action. C’est grotesque! You must inform your boyfriend immediately. There is nothing worse than an elderly man placing his extremities where he shouldn’t. It is tres unhygienic. I implore you, my dear, to never ask your boyfriend’s father to butter a bread roll for you.

If your boyfriend refuses to accept the veracity of your story and his father continues to make advances towards you, there is only one avenue open to you : COLD HARD CASH. If Daddy wants to go roamin’ in the gloamin’ he will have to pay for the privilege. Set your rates, my dear, and stick to them. It may be a lucrative sideline for you.

Posted by : Selma

I didn’t think I was all that superstitious until my son said to me : “Mum, you say touch wood all the time.” He’s right, I do. ” I hope we don’t get that horrible ‘flu that’s going around. Touch wood.” “I hope the elastic on my underwear holds out until I get home from work. Touch wood.” “I hope this fifth Cosmopolitan doesn’t mean I’ll spend the rest of the night throwing up. Touch wood.”

Seems I’m not alone. Superstition is one of the mainsprings of human behaviour generating hopes of influencing our own fate and defeating the forces of evil. We touch wood to ward off a negative outcome because in folklore there are certain trees that are believed to protect against evil and misfortune. They include ash, rowan, birch, hazel, holly, oak, hawthorne and bay. In Russia it is believed that aspen laid on the grave of a witch will prevent her spirit from riding out at night to terrorize people.

Superstitions cover a wide range of beliefs. Jazz legend, Duke Ellington, never wore a brown suit. He stopped wearing brown as it was the colour he was wearing on the day his mother died. Winston Churchill petted black cats as he believed they brought him good luck. By contrast, hip hop star Missy Elliott fears black cats. If one walks in her path, even if she is on the way to an important meeting, she will immediately turn around and go home.

A quick office poll revealed that supersition is very much alive in the modern world. Daniel, 36, a very sensible accountant, will not walk under ladders. Susie will not date men whose name starts with ‘P.’ Tracey puts a lucky charm in her bra when attending meetings. Chen would never travel to the 13th floor of a building. In fact, until just a few years ago, many apartment and office buildings were built without a thirteenth floor because people refused to live or work on that floor.

Sean gets the prize for grossest superstition, however. Every year when his footy team gets into the finals he gets out his pair of lucky socks. He was wearing them when he won the Grand Final five years ago. Each year they bring him luck. The secret is they’ve never been washed.

Seems that athletes on the whole are a superstitious bunch. Tiger Woods always wears a red article of clothing when playing in a tournament. Michael Jordan always wore his trusty North Carolina Tarheel shorts under his game shorts. If tennis player, Goran Ivanisevic, won a tournament he would repeat everything from the previous day : eat the same food, get up at the same time, talk to the same people. “Sometimes it got very boring,” he is noted as saying.

I can see what he means, but maybe boring is the price you pay for good luck. I had a good day at work today so I’m going to repeat everything I did today on Monday. And the winning schedule includes:

* Get up half an hour before due at work

* Run out of shampoo so have to wash hair with soap. Hair is stiff and inflexible all day. People compliment me on my new look.

* Wear panty hose in a size too small so crotch hovers around my knees all day.

* Hand in story to boss man without a proper edit. He says it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.

* Tell Rachelle (the boss man’s niece) that I’d heard Paris Hilton wanted to be one of her friends on her My Space page. She spends four hours trying to confirm this and leaves me alone.

* Have hot chips and a bar of chocolate for lunch.

* Talk to Mavis in accounts about her varicose veins and piles.

* Get the bus home and give my seat up for an elderly woman who gets on at Chinatown.

* Drink too much wine with dinner and fall asleep on the couch, snoring, by 8PM.

Superstition or a path to obsessive compulsive disorder? I may end up fat, perpetually drunk, and looking like a bag lady; but at least I’ll be basking in an abundance of good luck.